


Agent Foggy Nelson

by aravenwood



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Matt is Kind of an Avenger, so is foggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4589772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt on Daredevil kink meme: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/4501.html?thread=7854485#cmt7854485</p><p>Foggy was once part of Red Room, and Matt finds out in probably one of the worst ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agent Foggy Nelson

“No, please. I’m sorry, no!” Foggy whimpered in Russian, and Matt trembled at the sheer terror he could hear so strongly. He didn’t speak Russian – neither did Foggy, he had once been sure of, but now his lips formed the words as if he’d spoken them for years. 

The terrified sobs had started as suddenly as flicking on a switch; one minute, he and Foggy were huddled in a bus shelter to hide from the oncoming storm with Matt voicing his worry of getting stuck out in the rain and thunder – the low rumbling and the vibrations it caused in his ears were an inconvenience to say the least – and the next Foggy was breathing heavily and mumbling in increasingly desperate Russian. To say Matt was worried was the understatement of the century – his hand trembled as he dug through his pocket for his phone, aware that this was a situation he had no idea of how to handle. He needed help from the only people he could think of.

As he waited for Rogers to pick up, Matt tapped his foot impatiently as his mind raced. He’d seen Foggy panic before several times; he never coped well with large amounts of stress and Matt would often find him in their dorm curled up and his voice too muffled from both panic and the pillow he pressed into his face for Matt to even begin to understand. But when he was overwhelmed with pressure like all those times, he was mostly lucid, spoke in English (and the occasional Punjabi if his panic had started while studying that particular subject) and responded to Matt’s voice. Now though, he seemed to be incapable of understanding any words spoken to him.

“What’s up, Murdock?” Rogers questioned, his voice as noble as ever – Foggy said that whenever he spoke, he stood with his legs apart, head tilted towards the sun and arms akimbo, but Matt didn’t believe him. Rogers was too humble for that.

“I need your help. Or someone’s help. Something’s wrong with my friend. He’s speaking in Russian, he’s shaking like a Chihuahua and I think he’s having a panic attack. He’s not responding to me and I’m afraid that if he keeps going on like this he’s going to hurt himself,” Matt explained a little desperately. He liked Rogers and his team – he did. He just didn’t like asking them for help because he was worried they’d start to rely on him in the same way when all he would do was hold them back.

Rogers didn’t say anything to Matt, but there were whispers in the background that he purposefully blocked out so as not to invade their privacy. Romanoff’s voice broke through the whispers, loud and sure. “Murdock, I know what’s going on, but I can’t tell you yet. Clint’s on his way to pick you up now – Tony got the signal for your location the moment you mentioned Foggy – but right now you have to do exactly what I say, do you understand? I’ve been through this. That’s why I sent Clint – he can deal with this just as well as I can,” she told him in a reassuring but pained voice.

“Tell me what to do,” Matt ordered.

“Ok. First of all, he needs contact. Gentle contact. When you move, you have to be slow and keep your body in front of his. One arm around his shoulder so you’re touching his upper arm and with your other hand hold his elbow as if he’s guiding you. Move very slowly, Matt – he has to know you aren’t a threat,” Natasha instructed. 

Matt nodded but then realised he was on the phone – that had to be how people felt around him, even though he could actually tell when they did it. He turned his body to the side and stretched his arm carefully until it was in place. Foggy flinched very slightly under his hold, but it seemed that Matt had moved slowly enough that he hadn’t spooked him. His other hand wrapped around Foggy’s arm, his grip tight but not overly so. 

“No, I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t mean it. Please don’t punish me. I’ll do better next time, I swear.” Foggy’s muttering continued, quieter this time as if respecting that Matt was on his phone.

“Fuck,” Natasha swore, overhearing him. “Matt, are you holding him? Try and keep your head turned away from his face so you aren’t breathing down his neck – it’ll feel as if he’s being scrutinized. Has he ever had panic attacks before?” she quizzed.

“A few times in college. When he was stressed.”

“Alright, do you remember how you soothed him when he was having them? Describe it for me, would you? For the most part, it should be alright as long as your head isn’t around his, it’s easy for him to watch you and there’s no sudden movements.” Romanoff’s absolute confidence she projected calmed Matt’s own breathing a little even though he wasn’t even aware of his own panic. He wondered how she knew what to do. Sure, he knew a little about her – just what she’d told him herself – but he couldn’t see how anything in her past might be even vaguely similar to Foggy. For a moment, he wondered if this was some kind of psychosis, but dismissed it – Foggy was a little odd, sure, but he couldn’t have anything psychologically wrong. 

He thought back to the times in college, when he’d let Foggy sit between his legs and wrap his arms around his chest. “I draw circles on his back or wherever I have skin-on-skin contact. I think he likes the contact. And extremes. After a panic attack, his hands are always really cold or really hot because he’s been holding a heat pack. Once I… I walked in and I smelled blood. H-he’d stabbed himself in his palm with a biro just so he could feel the pain.” He could remember every attack in great detail just because in those times, Foggy was so different to his normal self, so much more unsure, nervous and afraid of being an inconvenience – or maybe he was just normally good at hiding it.

Natasha hummed along to what he was saying. “Do you have a coin that’s really cold? Put that in one of his hands. But keep one hand on him at all times, and as soon as you’ve given it, but the hand back to where it was.”

Matt realised that the positioning of his hands was very deliberate; he could restrain Foggy if necessary in this position. He hoped he wouldn’t have to. Pulling a quarter from his pocket, he tucked it in one tight fist and returned his hold to Foggy’s elbow. Foggy had tensed up even more, and even as Matt rubbed small circles with his thumb, heaving breaths still wracked Foggy’s body. “Natasha, how far away is Clint? He’s still panicking. He doesn’t recognise that I’m not going to hurt him. You knew what he was saying, tell me! I have to know.”

“Matt.” Romanoff’s voice shook a little in despair. “He’s begging you not to hurt you. He thinks he’s done something wrong, and if he’s done something wrong, he’s normally punished. That’s why you have to be extremely gentle with him – you have to show him that you’re not there to punish him.”

There was the sound of squealing brakes, and Foggy jumped a little, his body pressing a little closer against Matt; Matt wasn’t sure if it was an unconscious action or if he was actually recognising Matt as a friend. “Murdock, it’s Clint.” Clint’s hands rested on both of Foggy’s shoulders, brushing lightly against Matt’s arm. 

“No, no, no, no.” Foggy’s murmurs were barely audible now.

“Murdock, keep that hand on his elbow. I’ll put this around him and then we’ll try and get him in the car.” Matt moved the arm he had around Foggy’s shoulders as a soft blanket was tucked around his friend. “It’s alright, Foggy. No one’s here to hurt you. I know you can’t understand me right now, but Nat will. She’ll take care of you, I promise.” Clint’s voice trembled almost as much as Matt’s, but he still seemed to know what he was doing. At least someone knew. Personally, Matt had never felt more helpless as he listened to Foggy’s shuffling steps, almost as if he was being led to his death. Maybe that was what he thought was happening. 

Matt couldn’t help it as he threw up in disgust at the idea.

\--

The murmuring which had died down on the way to Stark Tower started anew the moment Foggy set foot in the elevator. “No, please don’t leave me in here. I’ll be good, I promise. Let me out! Please, I’ll do as you say!” he screamed at the top of his lungs the sheer volume of his pleading churning Matt’s stomach once more.

“Shh, it’s alright, Foggy. We’re only in here for a minute.” If Matt was being honest, he didn’t like the elevators in Stark Tower either; they went so fast that his ears popped, and he couldn’t deal with the slight change it caused in his hearing. But he couldn’t let Foggy know he was freaking out just as much. Of course, if Foggy had been aware of his surroundings, he would have seen how Matt’s free hand clung to the rail until his knuckles bulged against the skin over them.

Clint clicked his teeth loudly together. “Fuck, he’s still pretty far gone. Nat’s episodes never last this long,” he mumbled, stress oozing from every word. “And this elevator just needs to hurry the fuck up. Should’ve taken the stairs.” The words made Matt wonder just how bad Foggy actually looked – was his skin glistening with sweat from the mental strain he was going through, were his eyes clenched tight shut as a way to block out his surroundings, did his eyes twinkle with fresh tears? The taste of copper in the air doubled with the almost inaudible trickle of liquid landing on cloth led Matt to suspect that Foggy was chewing his lip so hard it had started to bleed.

Fresh air hit his face, and Romanoff’s voice filled Matt’s ears. She allowed Matt to lead Foggy out of the elevator before taking his other arm, escorting the two of them to one of literal dozens of sofas in the entire tower. Matt sank into it gratefully and listened to Natasha speaking to Foggy in unfamiliar Russian. “Agent, tell me the date. Tell me the exact date and location.”

“July 8, 2014. Location, Moscow. Exact location unknown, ma’am.” Foggy’s voice still trembled as if he was afraid of Natasha, something Matt couldn’t really blame as he listened to the commanding tone in her voice.

“Wrong answer, Agent. Look around at your surroundings and tell me the exact location. Think, Agent. Search for clues. Remember what we taught you.” Natasha was pushing Foggy. To do what, Matt couldn’t actually tell, but he was more than a little distressed at the uncomfortable moans escaping from between Foggy’s lips.

Before he could say anything, someone – Rogers – dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Come and get a hot drink. It’s cold out there,” he suggested gently.

Matt tried to protest. It seemed importanimportant that he witness Foggy breaking out of his current state so he would know what to do if it ever happened again – he hoped it didn’t. Clint however, whispered in his ear, “Believe me, Murdock, you don’t want to witness this. She’s talking to him like they would. She needs him to realise where he is, when he is, so he knows he isn’t being threatened. It’s not the most pleasant thing to witness. I’ll be right here with him, I promise. We’ll take good care of him.” His words were so convincing that Matt nodded and allowed Matt to lead him into the kitchen, where he could hear several low voices.

“Hey, Murdock,” called a youthful Russian accent – Pietro Maximoff. Who was supposed to be dead, Matt was pretty sure. “Took you both long enough to get here. Your coffee’s getting cold.”

“Kid, we made it literally thirty seconds ago. It’s not getting cold. Just because you gulped yours and burned your tongue,” Stark scoffed around a mouthful of something. “Murdock, good to see you again. It’s not every day I get to see you in your lawyer attire. I approve. Well, your socks don’t match your tie, but you don’t have Pepper threatening to mace you if you don’t take off the orange socks.”

It was just like Tony to try and joke around when Matt was edging closer and closer to having a meltdown of his own. He wasn’t in the mood for Stark’s light-heartedness. “You know what’s happening to Foggy. Or at least, you have an idea. Tell me,” he growled, one hand squeezing the handle of his mug of coffee.

Barnes spoke up from the other side of the room, a rare occurrence for him to grace them with his voice. “Red Room. He’s one of the Red Room escapees. He’s part of Batch Two,” he answered cryptically, trembling hands knocking lightly against his thigh. When no one said anything, he continued. “Natalia – I mean Romanoff – was part of the first twenty-eight all female group of agents. After that, the people in charge used some of the agents to train another group. There were four boys in Batch Two – only one of the boys was American, but they made him learn Russian.”

“Foggy,” Matt whispered, face crumbling. “He’s good with languages. He once learned half my Spanish course just so he could help me practice for the final exam.” Foggy was just great like that.

“He was Nepein during those years. They changed it to a Russian name for missions,” Barnes informed them. Like that was the biggest issue here.

“You said he’s an escapee. When did he escape?” Stark questioned, refusing to allow emotions to disguise his curiosity. He cared about Foggy too, but he also wanted to find out how someone managed to escape the KGB.

Barnes hummed. He stayed quiet for a minute, and Matt heard Rogers remind him in a muted whisper, “That wasn’t you. You remember that, right?” This had to be traumatic for the ex-Winter Soldier to reminisce on the past he never wanted. Nonetheless, he took several calming breaths.

“Escapee,” he confirmed. “Seven agents managed to escape from the facility – I don’t know the details, but Romanoff might. A week after the escape, four of the seven had died – three from suicide and one by another agent. I was sent to kill the other three, but only managed to find one. Nepein was one of the ones to escape me. I swear I never recognised your friend until now. For some reason, the boys were submissive and it was believed that Nepein was forced to leave with the escapees. Plans found said that only six were involved.”

Matt swung his fist into the table, feeling a shallow dent forming where he hit it. He was sickened by the idea of this ‘submissive’ Foggy, but he’d already thrown up anything he’d eaten all day. “I have to be with him,” he insisted in a voice that no one dared argue with him.

As if on cue, Foggy’s sobs broke into the kitchen. Matt didn’t need guiding this time – the sounds of absolute distress were like beacons of light.

“Good, Murdock. I was just going to fetch you. Back in English, still slight panic attack, but he’s better. He needs you now,” Clint told him, panting a little himself. His voice was low and nasally in a way that Matt associated with a broken nose. But Barton had been fine before… “Definitely Red Room. Hell of a left hook he’s got there – ever thought of having a sidekick, Murdock?”

“I’m so sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear I didn’t. I don’t even remember doing it – is that weird? It feels like it should be weird to not actually remember hitting someone in the face. Is it broken? Please tell me it’s not broken – I’m not that good a shot, I swear,” Foggy rambled in one breath, apparently still in the midst of calming down from his panic attack. He too sounded like he was in pain, but the smell of blood coming off of Barton meant Matt wasn’t able to tell if Foggy was bleeding too. He’d have to check the old fashioned way.

He sat down on Foggy’s right side in the space Barton had vacated. “Hi, Foggy. Back with us?” he questioned as casually as he was able. The fear in his voice was obvious in his ears, but he prayed that Foggy was still a little too dazed to be able to read his expression.

“Matt…You saw…How much did you see? I’m sorry. I scared you, didn’t I? I’m sorry, it just came out of nowhere. I don’t know what set it off.” Foggy’s voice was filled with the same self-loathing Matt normally acquainted with himself; it didn’t sound right to hear it from Foggy.

“Stop it!” he snapped, suddenly filled with anger; anger at the Red Room for taking Foggy and turning him into an Agent, anger at Foggy for not telling him, anger at Stark just for listening in.

Foggy didn’t say anything, believing that he’d hurt and angered his best friend, and a muted whimper escaped from between his lips. He pushed himself away from Matt a little, the warmth of his arm disappearing.

“Murdock, I think you have to let us explain exactly what happened just there,” Romanoff requested, her tone tinged with her own anger directed towards Matt for causing Foggy any kind of discomfort.

“Please, enlighten me.” Matt heard himself say the words, but he felt like he had no control of his own voice. The words made it sound as if his rage had overtaken any logic or emotion, but in reality, he only wanted to curl on the couch and hug Foggy for the rest of his life, never allowing anyone even the slightest chance to do any more damage than had already been done. He honestly wanted to hit himself for causing Foggy even more distress.

Romanoff sighed from Foggy’s other side. “He had a flashback. He’s a Red Room Agent. Or he was,” she started.

“I know,” Matt cut in. “Barnes told me. He said you might know more about Foggy’s time in training. You might know him as Nepein.”

For about half a minute, Romanoff just seemed to think, unsure of what to say. “Foggy, when you first met me, did you recognise me?” she asked quietly so as not to further startle the panicking man.

Foggy hummed in agreement.

“You didn’t know why.”

He muttered some kind of negative, incomprehensive even to Matt.

“Do you know the name Nepein? Has anyone ever called you that?”

This time, Foggy whimpered. “My name is Nelson, not Nepein,” he muttered in Russian, and for a second, Matt panicked, believing Foggy to have returned to his former self once more. But then he seemed to snap out of it, speaking this time in English. “They wanted me to have a Russian name so it didn’t spark any suspicion. Having an American seven year old in a Russian exclusive academy would spark people to ask questions…wouldn’t blend in,” he explained to no one in particular, and the warmth returned to Matt’s shoulder. He looped his arm around Foggy’s shoulder and held him close, hoping that the close contact might act as an anchor to the present day.

“I know that name too. In Red Room, do you remember any of your instructors? You might know me as Natalia Romanova. My real name. The name they let me keep,” Romanoff suggested, and Matt felt Foggy tense up against him and press his body tighter against Matt’s.

“No, I have to explain to Matt first, then I can deal with my own demons. I don’t want you to be in the dark, Matty.” Foggy’s voice was filled with desperation.

Matt nodded. “Then explain to me.”

Foggy breathed deeply several times to calm his nerves, then began. “I won’t repeat what Bucky probably already said. I remember him too – another instructor. Red Room took me when I was seven and had gotten lost while on holiday in Moscow to visit family. They were going to meet me at the airport, but before they found me, two men grabbed me and I was too scared to scream out for help. I let them take me. There they gave me my Russian name – Nepein. That’s what they called me. 

“For years, they trained me to be a Black Widow Agent. I was obedient and in return the instructors didn’t punish me as much as some of the others. Sometimes they’d lock me in a small room and tell me to stay there – it was a test to show me that sometimes it didn’t pay to be loyal. The first time it happened, I was in there for four days before the other boys in my batch broke me out. By the time they brought me to Natalia, I was severely dehydrated, malnourished and unable to open my eyes because the light burned so much. Even then, I didn’t learn. 

“Everyone there spoke Russian. For the first few months, I was prone to panic attacks because I could hear everyone speaking, but I never knew what anyone was saying, and that freaked me out. Natalia was the one who taught me Russian. She was probably the nicest instructor there. Which, to be fair, isn’t saying much; they were mostly sadistic bastards. But really, she seemed to actually care about her students, and they were successful under her.

“By the time I turned sixteen, I was a fully-fledged agent; a decent fighter, I could speak seven different languages – my English was pretty rusty because no one used it – and I was painfully obedient. One night I was lying on the floor and I heard whispering. A bunch of people from my batch were trying to escape. One of them saw me with my eyes open and grabbed me. They gagged me with a sock – it was dirty, I could taste the dirt, blood and sweat – and dragged me with them. They couldn’t risk me telling. We escaped just fine, but none of us had any idea of where we were going. Morale was low when two killed themselves – they knew nothing of the outside world and it terrified them. Another killed the one who’d planned the escape because they hated the outside world. She threatened me too because she didn’t like that I wasn’t panicking or getting angry. Then she killed herself…I watched... Eventually those of us left went our separate ways. Somehow I made it to where the family I had originally been going to visit lived. They arranged for me to go home to my parents.”

By the time he finished, Foggy was panting a little, his voice becoming more and more distant. When it seemed he had passed out from exhaustion, he slurred one more thing in pure devastation; “Matt, I can kill without a second thought. I’m a monster.” Then he was silent.

Matt felt wet tears running down his cheeks but didn’t move to wipe them away. Foggy deserved these tears. He deserved to be cried over. “Natasha, is that all true?”

“Yes. But everything he just told you, he probably won’t actually remember himself. If you ask him about it when he wakes up, he’ll deny it all, say he doesn’t remember anything. Maybe that’s trtrue. I remember it because I worked through it. Their brainwashing worked well on him because he was so trusting. He’s still under it.” Natasha broke off and walked off, apparently finishing the conversation.

Clint spoke up – Matt had forgotten he was there. “You don’t want him to remember, trust me. It’s better he not remember all of it. All he knows is that something gave him PTSD and he blocked it out. He doesn’t need to know anything else,” he warned Matt.

“You expect me to just forget that my best friend is a brainwashed Russian agent?” Matt snapped.

Clint apparently nodded – the soft ruffle of his shirt moving gave it away. “That’s exactly what I expect, Murdock. If you bring it up again, he might not break out of the funk. And trust me when I say that you don’t want to be near an angry Red Room agent. He’ll be a danger to everyone. He won’t be your Foggy anymore – he’ll be Nepein.”

And meeting Nepein wasn’t a good thing. Matt got that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the original prompter of this on the kink meme. This is the first fic for this particular fandom that I've actually completed.
> 
> And thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
